


Glory

by Morta



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Blackfrost - Freeform, F/M, Gen, Self Harm, Suicide, thorki if you squint idk?, trigger - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 22:50:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morta/pseuds/Morta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles centered around Loki's life from birth to death. Mostly canon. Warnings are given by chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A glorious train wreck is what he was. Pretty like suicide, he stood out like blood on white lace. Loki was perfectly aware of his status as loon of the universe, and he savoured it. 

The 'problem' wasn't with him, rather with all who stopped and stared as he fell head first from grace. Not that he'd ever held much. Being a child of the Allfather certainly had its perks. He'd always been a naughty little thing through the years. Numerous slaps on the wrist could only do so much, when all was said and done. 

Equality for the love of a brother was nonexistent. Could he change the past, he wasn't sure he would. This attention felt so satisfying, though empty at the same time. It beat loneliness at the hand of inadequacy that need not be spoken to be seen by any who take more than just a passing glance. Even a realm so miniscule as Midgard was worthwhile, especially since his alleged superiors suffered as a happy consequence. 

He didn't realize all he received was pity from all who mattered. Glory in the eyes of the inconsequential meant nothing. All who knew him, actually knew Loki the person instead of Loki the Big Bad, saw him for what he was - a wounded child. 

Pity was useless. Taking what was rightfully his beat the living hell out of waiting in the wings for recognition to waddle to his feet. 

He'd force them to cower, and it would relent. They were afraid, as they should be. 

Apparently, crazy was highly contagious in Midgard, and Loki was damn well a carrier.


	2. Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One word prompt: Dancing. 
> 
> Natasha is the only person who can tolerate Loki. She doesn't know why, nor does she care to know.

It stank of cigarettes and stale beer. Which was to be expected of a dingy hole-in-the-wall pub like this. Anyone passing by would surely miss it, unless they knew it existed beforehand. 

She'd brought him to take a breather from everyone at the Tower. Bruce was beyond tired of dealing with him; it was a wonder he hadn't said fuck it and let the green guy out to play. Loki was far from irritating to only Bruce. Tony was amused more than anything else, at first. Loki's recurrent destruction of his tech, however, had soured him quite a lot on the once-god. Luckily, all he'd done was break phones and things of little importance, and mostly out of frustration for how to work the damned things. Thor had done the same, in between dragging Loki back to the Tower after another ill-thought escape attempt. He played peacekeeper, a job he'd not done well. Steve tried to steer clear of Loki since accidentally breaking a few of his bones in a minor dispute over who had the last pudding cup. As for Clint, he's enjoyed poking fun at the beast whenever possible. More than once, things turned physical and Loki kissed him just to mess with his head. One can imagine how well that settled with Clint. Natasha was the only person with a low enough give a fuck meter to tolerate him for long periods of time.   
So, here they sat. Two master manipulators inhaling whiskey as if it were air. Despite his Jotun blood, he'd not kept up well. Natasha feared she'd have to carry him to the Tower with him vomiting down her back before the night was out. She'd been considering giving him a tattoo when he inevitably passed out. Perhaps something with a goat. 

Loki was cackling between sobs - something undoubtedly about his daddy issues - and slopping whiskey down his front. 

"It's not as if I'm incapable, you know? None of the fuckers will give me a fuckin' chance!" He slurred, gesturing wildly. 

She decided it was time to leave when he started weeping, and dripping snot and tears everywhere. Rather than watch him fall on his face, as she desperately wanted to do, she threw his arm over her shoulder. 

Directing the God of Mischief while he was drunk off his ass was no easy feat, immensely amusing though it may have been. Loki swayed and stumble, which he seemed to think was hysterical.

"N-Natasha!" he hissed the s, "Dance with me! I command you to consider dancing with me pretty please. I'll let you hit me if you'd like." He laughed, "You know you'd love to punch the arsehole right out of me."

She set her jaw. "Loki, shut up. Just stop talking. Please." 

"Dance with me!" He shouted, head lolling to one side. "I'll do evil if you don't! Naughty, sexy, bloody mischief! Dance!" 

Loki pulled away from her, and started waltzing emphatically. At least she thought he was waltzing. He might have been just stumbling rhythmically.

She marvelled at his idiocy, the urge to wring his neck rapidly rising. 

He stumbled backward, somehow managing not to fall. "Come now, Natasha. Dance with me!"

Natasha glared. This moron wasn't going to relent, was he? "Loki, you're drunk. Stop acting like an idiot before you hurt yourself. Or, I could hurt you before. Whichever you prefer."

He pouted, arms open. "Please? May I have this dance?" He smirked, and stepped forward. She took his hands, lips pursed, and he roughly pulled her into his arms and swung her in jerking circles before rapidly stopping.

"This is nice." He'd calmed, swaying side to side with his hands on her hips and his chin on her shoulder. 

"Not the word I'd-" Loki wretched, and she felt molten vomit slide down the back of her t-shirt, "-use." 

She waited to punch him until he woke, hungover as hell, the next day.


	3. Sanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One word prompt: Sanity. 
> 
> In which Loki nears rock bottom in the brain pan.

Oh, she had talent and patience. Irritating bravery, yes, but feigned nobility made her fallible. She was unsure of her decision, he was certain, and insecurity was so amusing to exploit. He had a lot to look forward to with her. 

Natasha Romanov. Her name tasted so decadent on his tongue. She was mouthwatering at the mere thought. 

Coyote and fox collided in a glorious competiton of wit and stamina. The sense of enjoyment on his part would be formidable, he had no doubt.

He glanced to the foor of the green one's cell , then beyond the glass. Depraved hope coursed through his veins. Loki wanted to taste her, words and lies burning his tongue with a sweetness no sugar could compare to. Her stoicism reeked of half-truths, and he knew she was aware of this false sense of nobility. 

She would be a great ally, but an infinitely better rival.

The games they'd play would live as legend for many millennia to come. Natasha deserved more than to be made to lick his boots. He'd lick hers, if only to throw her off. As for further pleasures, well, the universe would crumble around their entwining bodies. Oblivion was inevitable.  
Loki started laughing. 

He raised his focus to one of the many cameras he knew to be watching his every move, terrifying glee threatening to tear from his skin. She was on the other end, he knew it. 

"Come to play, Natasha!" 

From the control room down the hall, Thor solemnly watched his brother descend further into madness. There really was no sanity left in him. 

He shed a silent tear, but refused to look away.


	4. Sheets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One word prompt: Sheets
> 
> Loki as a boy in Asgard. Warning: Graphic depiction of self-harm.

"Loki? Are you alright in there?" 

He scrambled to staunch the bleeding. "I'm fine, Mother."

His shirt was soaked. Desperately searching for something clean, he ripped the corner of his sheet from his mattress and pressed it to the wound. The gash was deep - bubbly yellow tissue was visible, and he could barely make out a dark shadow of muscle beneath. 

"You sound distressed. Sweetheart, what are you doing?" She tried to seem calm, but he could tell she was worried. "I'm coming in."

Loki's heart was pounding, not helping the blood flow in the slightest. He pulled his covers to his chin and flopped down gracelessly just as the door swung open.

"I'm fine, Mother. I swear." He made to extinguish the light beside his bed with his non-bleeding arm. He hoped she wouldn't see the discoloured stains on his hand. 

She wrinkled her brow, ignoring his obvious lie. "Is this about what you did to Sif?" 

He huffed. "As if she matters to me."

She started fiddling with her necklace. "You destroyed her hair - that hardly shows indifference."

"She looked horrid with golden hair. If anything, I did her a favour." His head was spinning. Staying conscious was getting difficult. 

"You care then, Loki, more than you know. You can't hide forever. Apologize, and you may find her giving you a second chance." 

Loki snarled and stared at the wall opposite him. He could feel his arm sticking to the fabric as the blood started to coagulate. 

She lifted his chin, pulling his eyes to her own. "I hope you learn to forgive, my love. You'll never grow up if you do not." 

He could see sadness, but a great deal of tenderness in her eyes as well. He wrenched his head from her grasp. Admitting she was right was admitting defeat. Kings never admit defeat. 

"I'll leave now, if you promise to try." Frigga gave him the same look of worry and warmth. 

He bit his lip to keep from passing out. Holding out much longer would be impossible. Gritting his teeth, he snarled, "Fine. Please, please leave." 

She smiled slightly, and kissed his forehead. "I love you. Rest calm." 

He lost consciousness as the door clicked shut.


	5. Wrath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One word prompt: Wrath
> 
> Loki, on the Bifrost preparing for Thor's big day.

Loki glanced behind him, nervous as hell. No one could know. A facade of stoicism was vital.

"Heimdall, grant me passage to Jotunheim."

The gatekeeper stared with the same stoicism. He held his sword firmly, his stance unbreakable by force. 

Loki was seething. "That was an order. I command you, grant me passage."

Heimdall studied the crownless king. "That is a dangerous proposition, my prince. Fulfilling such a request will inevitably end badly." 

Loki set his jaw. Of course this would be more difficult than it needed to be. "Let. Me. Pass." He spat.

"I fear I cannot."

He was nearly shaking with rage. Loki clenched his fists behind his back. 

"The Allfather will hear of your insolence."

Heimdall was silent.

The pitiful prince glared. "I thought as such."

"I am simply obeying my king."

Loki's expression darkened, and he stormed back up the Bifrost, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming. He'd find another way. This was only the beginning.


	6. Flesh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One word prompt: Flesh
> 
> Loki turns to Natasha after an unexpected moment of panic.

"I worry for my flesh."

Her eyes narrowed. The fuck did he just say? "Excuse me?" 

"I-" He paused, "I am afraid that I may act irrationally. I fear for my life."

So Loki was suicidal. Understandable, she thought, as he had attempted suicide before. Once a problem, always a problem, she supposed. People never really heal.

"None can kill me but my own hand."

She rolled her eyes. He sure was an arrogant prick. 

"Don't make faces, this is serious." Loki closed his eyes, the floor vanishing into darkness. 

Natasha almost scoffed. 

"Agen- Natasha. Please," his voice dropped, " help me." 

She paused. "You're serious, aren't you?" 

Loki could conjure no words, and simply nodded.

**Author's Note:**

> You make me happy because you read my things. 
> 
> Originally, I posted this on tumblr but ended up deleting my RP due to drama. I posted any writing involving Loki on that page, hence the drabbleyness.


End file.
